


The Song Remains The Same

by andchaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean attends a Halloween party in order to protect his two best friends from an inevitable fight. He meets a boy, who turns out to be the younger brother of his friend's adversaries, and ends up liking him more than he thought he actually liked boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song Remains The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I rewatched The Song Remains The Same tonight and when Dean said "He's tough for a little nerdy dude with wings!" it stuck viciously in my head and this fic was born. Oops. I put in as many details as I could manage to keep the same for a college AU--and notice the costumes please, I enjoyed choosing them--but obviously some things had to be different because they're at university and Destiel fucks.
> 
> Title is the same as the episode title, because hey, even in a different universe, the song remains the same: Anna & Uriel fight Mary & John, some people intervene, some stuff happens. Okay maybe it isn't exactly the same. Whatever.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if there are errors! I didn't even read this over, I just wanted to get it out and now it's 5 in the morning and I'll probably edit it when I wake up, if I have time. More likely than not I actually won't. Whatever. Sorry. Enjoy.
> 
> (Edit: I just edited like half of it so it should be a bit better. Sorry for the inconvenience.)

Dean hadn’t wanted to come to this party, but he hadn’t had a choice.

          His best friends Mary—also his distant cousin—and her boyfriend John had insisted on throwing this Halloween soiree, and even though they’d also said that Dean didn’t have to come, he knew exactly the type of people likely to frequent this particular event. Everyone liked Mary and John, of course, and they were the closest thing to an It Couple that Kansas State had, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have their enemies.

          For one, Anna Milton. She had hated Mary since freshman year, when, aside from winning over one of the most attractive (not to mention intelligent) boys in the school, Mary had beat her out for head cheerleader. She considered it especially cruel that Mary hadn’t even _wanted_ the position—she preferred tae kwon do to cheering, but her friend Liddy had insisted, and Mary was good. All the fighting she’d done in high school had added up to excellent flexibility, agility, and a fierce personality that allowed her to lead better than Anna ever could.

          For another, Uriel Nothus. He was Anna’s adoptive brother and generally took her side, despite the relative pettiness of her vendetta. The Nothuses had taken Anna in when she already sixteen, though this fact did nothing to lessen Uriel’s blind loyalty. Dean would’ve admired the quality, if the family wasn’t the biggest group of asshats that he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

          So Mary and John were going to throw a party at their flat, and Dean was sworn to defend them, if and when Anna and Uriel started trouble. The rest of the family had already graduated, save for their little brother, though he tried to keep out of family affairs as much as possible. Otherwise, Dean would have had a whole hell of a lot more dickbags to fight, and he was already in a rage about having to deal with two. Mary probably still had a bit of a bite, but she was definitely out of practice.

          Dean parked the Impala outside their house and opened his door, still not pleased. He liked parties just fine, but he knew that he wouldn’t be enjoying this one too much, especially because he hated dressing up. Although, as he was just dressed as James Dean, he hadn’t done much. His little brother Sam—horns and tail attached—had also insisted on coming as backup, and Dean, though equally protective over him, was not one to decline support. Besides, he knew Sam could fight almost as well as he could.

          People were already inside when they walked in, though not nearly as many as Dean knew would be in about an hour. He wended his way through the house of vampires and witches, cats and bunnies until he found the kitchen, in which the hosts were setting up a keg; a table of vodka, tequila, rum, and various other handles of hard liquor; and the tumblers necessary to hold the aforementioned booze. Dean quirked a half-smile at John, dressed like a soldier, as he bent down to help him move the keg over into the center of the room, and Sam went over to the cabinet to bring out more glasses, joining Mary (who looked like Artemis) in arranging them. The four of them made small talk as they worked, catching up on the last few months. The school year had just started, and before that the couple had been on a vacation down to Texas to visit family over the summer, so they hadn’t seen each other in about three months.

          Sam stuck close to his older brother as people started pouring in and Mary and John went to greet them at the door. Despite the shitshow that this night was sure to become, they liked to start things off as classy as possible, which Dean admired.

          Within the hour, he couldn’t see his friends anymore, or even hear what his brother was shouting at him over the ridiculously loud music. He squeezed his way over to the dance floor and flung himself down onto the couch just outside the tightly-packed circle of grinding college kids, trying to see through the crowd for a glimpse of Mary and John or Anna and Uriel.

          They were nothing if not predictable. About half an hour after Dean had taken a seat, a loud crashing came from the kitchen, like glass breaking. He and Sam jumped to their feet and squeezed through the crowd as best they could, fighting pointed hats and tails of various sizes and degrees of fluffiness, until they broke through into the room with the commotion. It was full, because this was the where the alcohol was, but everyone had pressed against the wall, save for four people.

          Anna, who was dressed as Glenn Close in _Fatal Attraction_ , stood in the middle of the room, looking equally as crazy as her costume’s inspiration with her hair in a mess and her dress falling down. Her brother, a life-sized Ken Doll, stood beside her, his fists balled up and his posture challenging. They stood facing Mary and John, who each wore identical looks of pure fury. Something was shattered on the ground on the battlefield between their feet, glass scattered everywhere and a yellow-opaque substance staining the ugly rug. Mary was shouting something unintelligible between the music and her rage, but Anna seemed to understand, as she suddenly darted forward and punched Mary across the face.

          Mary flew backwards into the cabinet and fell to the floor. She immediately jumped to her feet, eyes wild and ready to attack, but even before she lunged forward, John had leaped on Anna and was wrestling her into the wall. Uriel jumped on him and dragged him off his sister, decked him in the jaw, and the pair commenced fighting. Mary tackled the already-fallen Anna and put her karate to some good use, though Anna must have also had training in combat, as she was putting up a decent fight.

          Sam and Dean started forward and pulled back their fists to hit Uriel, who was closer, but before they could, someone rushed past them, his cheap angel wings shoving them into the wall as he jumped into Mary and Anna’s fight. He pulled Mary back, pushing her toward John’s fight so that she could help her boyfriend, then in one swift move twisted Anna’s arm behind her back and literally shoved her out of the window. Dean raised his eyebrows, shocked and a little turned on in a weird way, as the guy turned around, pushed John and Mary out of the way, grabbed Uriel’s head, and slammed it so hard against the wall that he immediately fell to the floor, unconscious.

          Everyone was silent at this little display. Then they all breathed in at the same time and surged forward to have a closer look at the damage, and in that moment of movement, the angel turned around and looked Dean right in the eye.

          It was the youngest Nothus, something Novak, also adopted, at the age of fifteen and only a few months before Anna. He was totally unassuming, a straight-A student, and never associated with his siblings. He had for all intents and purposes dropped out of the family when he graduated high school, and though they all went to the same college that his adopted family had been attending since the dawn of time, he adamantly ignored them all on principle. He never called them, never went out them, ignored them if they shared a class, and refused to so much as tell them his room assignment. They had never met his roommate, hadn’t so much as heard from him in three years. He was now a senior in college, had gotten his own flat off-campus the summer after sophomore year, and hadn’t even been home since after freshman year, when he’d spent the summer holed up in his room and sneaking food from the fridge after hours. His foster parents had taken the locks off his door for this behavior and oftentimes burst right in, but he had obstinately ignored their presence, no matter how close they got or how loud they shrieked, until they finally agreed to leave him alone completely. The thing about the Nothuses is that they were pretty terrible people in every imaginable way, though they presented a kind face to the community at large—going to church, keeping a clean house and lawn, doing charity work—but behind closed doors, they were like the devil incarnate. Novak had absolutely no trouble spreading this information far and wide, much to his siblings’ displeasure. They, in turn, practically disowned him—though they tried to bring him back into the fold frequently, they refused to call him “family” until he agreed to comply with their every rule. And he refused, every time.

          Even still, actively fist-fighting was a whole new level. He had _thrown his sister out of a window_. Then he’d knocked his brother unconscious. Safe to say, he didn’t really consider them family.

          Dean leaned close to Sam and whispered, “He’s tough for a little nerdy dude with wings!” His eyes never left the other’s.

          The angel-boy now approached Dean, who he had picked out from the crowd for no reason Dean could see. Mary and John were in worse shape, functional but with bloody lips or noses, and Sam was right there, but it was to _Dean_ that he put his question:

          “Are you alright?”

          Dean startled. First of all, this guy had come _way_ too close, like he had trouble with personal space. Secondly, he really had no reason to ask Dean this. Dean struggled to get his thoughts together for a second, then stammered out,

          “Y-yeah man, I’m fine. I wasn’t even the one fighting—are _you_ okay?”

          The boy looked down at himself, at his hands bloody with somebody else’s blood, and seemed almost surprised. “Yes.”

          “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

          Dean grabbed Novak’s shoulder and led him away. Sam stared after them blankly, like he wasn’t sure what to do, and then moved over to help Mary and John fix their bottles, kitchen, and bodies.

          Dean and the other boy walked all the way across the house and up the stairs, which was technically off-limits, but Dean was family and he wasn’t trying to fuck in the one of the rooms, so he figured he was allowed. He steered the injured boy into the first room on the right and shut the door, then turned to face him. As he took a towel off the rack and wetted it under the faucet, he asked, “So what’s your name again?”

          “Castiel,” the other replied, standing in the bathroom like a lost statue, his wings sticking out pathetically from behind his back, his overcoat—it didn’t go with the outfit, but it was cold out—dwarfing him in its largeness, his head slightly bowed but his eyes boring into Dean’s as he turned back around. Dean paused for a split second and then half-smiled and said, “Cas.” He picked up one of Castiel’s hands and began to wipe the blood off of it.

          Castiel tilted his head a little to the side, evidently confused. “Cas?”

          “It’s a nickname,” said Dean, pausing in his ministrations. Then he jerked his head slightly to the side and resumed what he was doing, grabbing Castiel’s other hand and starting to wipe that one off too. “That okay?” His eyes flicked up to the angel’s and then back down to his work.

          Cas smiled to himself. “That’s fine.”

          “Good.” He’d finished both hands, but as he looked up, he realized that he had a little blood on the collar of his trenchcoat and the side of his face. When the window shattered, the flying glass must have cut him. Dean automatically reached up and dragged the now-dirty towel over the spot on the jacket, then, when that was nothing more than a faint, irremovable stain, he moved his hands slightly and started cleaning Cas’s face. The blood trickled down on the left side of his face from the corner of his forehead, the cut barely hidden in his hair. Dean dragged the cloth upwards so that his cheek was stained slightly red but no longer had drips on it, and wadded it up over the cut itself. Castiel flinched, and Dean put his free left hand on the right side of his head to steady him.

          Cas could probably keep the towel there himself, but Dean didn’t remove his hand and Cas didn’t reach up to replace it with his own. He just stared like his life depended on it, his mouth slightly open, his gaze almost searching. Dean stared back, not sure how to respond or why he kept glancing down at Cas’s half-open lips or why he wasn’t thinking about Lisa or Cassie or any of the girls he’d wanted to get with downstairs, why he just kept looking at Cas’s half-open lips and wondering things he never really allowed himself to wonder.

          “What are you thinking about, Dean?” whispered Cas, his breath fanning over Dean’s bottom lip, because really he wasn’t _that_ much shorter than the other boy standing in the bathroom, an angel and a rebel staring at each other like they’d never learned how to do anything else.

          The silence stretched on, and so did the tension. _That_ didn’t wind down or cease or decrease in any way whatsoever. They were really standing much closer than any two humans should ever stand, and it was _Dean’s_ fault this time, as he was the one who had stepped up to Castiel, but he had only been trying to tend to him. So why was he still less than a step away from the other boy? Why was he hovering over him with a stupid bloody towel pressed to his forehead and his head trapped beneath Dean’s fingers? Dean’s fingers, which had twisted and spread so that he wasn’t just holding Cas’s head in place, he was basically just holding it, his palm on Cas’s cheek and his fingers stretching back into his hair.

          Cas huffed out an almost-laugh. “Are you going to kiss me, Dean?” It didn’t sound like teasing, it sounded like genuine curiosity. Almost like he wouldn’t mind if Dean did…

          _No_ , he almost said.

          _I don’t swing that way_ , he almost said.

          _The only dick I play with is my own_ , he almost said.

          “Are _you_ going to kiss _me_?” he actually said.

          Castiel shrugged. “Well, if you want me to.” And he reached up and grabbed both of Dean’s shoulders, then leaned up through the maze of arms and pressed their lips together.

The towel fell to the floor, because suddenly his right hand was very occupied in twisting through Cas’s hair and finally making a home at the back of his neck, his fingers still tangled in the black mess. Cas moved his hands too, one of them reaching up and resting at the very top of Dean’s head. He pushed Dean back against the bathroom wall with his other hand, which was still braced against Dean’s shoulder, and fell against him so smoothly that he might have practiced it. His free hand moved down to grip at the hem of Dean’s white shirt, and Dean’s left hand fell down over Cas’s back, only to encounter some very in-the-way wings. He tore at these blindly until they somehow unhooked and clattered to the floor, and Cas growled angrily against his mouth.

“I worked hard on those!” he rumbled, but Dean just swallowed the words as he brought their mouths back together properly and opened his lips. Castiel accepted the invitation enthusiastically, so Dean’s _“sorry”_ came out kind of muffled around Cas’s tongue. Cas pushed up Dean’s shirt and found his arms in the way. Dean started to lift them so that Cas could pull his shirt off properly, then changed his mind and pulled away long enough to mumble, “Let’s get out of the bathroom first.” This sentence was barely audible over Cas’s growl of protest at the distance that saying it required, and he tried to decline Dean’s suggestion by persuading him with tongue and hands, but Dean had already pushed off the wall and grabbed one of the hands that trailed longingly over his side, reluctant to let go. He dragged Cas behind him out of the bathroom and into the hallway, looking up the corridor and down the stairs, but it was empty. Cas’s hands were already wandering again, the one in Dean’s twisting impatiently, the other trailing down Dean’s back and over his ass. He tugged at the back of Dean’s belt as they moved swiftly down the hallway, and Dean stopped with a groan and pushed Cas against a wall, narrowly avoiding a picture frame. Cas immediately attacked his mouth, his free hand reaching up to wrap around his neck, but after a few seconds Dean pulled away and instead trailed kisses over his jaw and onto his neck.

“ _Can you wait five seconds_?” he growled in his ear, his left hand betraying him as it strayed underneath Cas’s shirt and over his hips. “ _I’m trying to find us a room_.”

“No time for that,” Cas gasped out, his fingers now scrabbling over his back again. “Hallway’s empty.”

Dean chuckled against the skin that his mouth was now sucking at. He pulled away again and tugged on the hand that he still held, but Cas only walked a few steps before he shoved Dean against a door and started in on his throat, his lips sucking in a hickey while his right hand pushed under the white shirt again. Dean groaned, and he could feel the victory smile that he received in return. He managed to get out, “Come on, it’s only a few doors down—” before he moaned again and Cas brought their mouths back together.

“What’s wrong with this one?” he asked between kisses, his right hand thumping against the wood behind Dean’s head to indicate which he meant.

“That’s John and Mary’s room,” he answered haltingly, once again trailing his mouth down Cas’s jaw line. “They fuck in there. We can ruin the guest room.”

Castiel laughed and pushed off Dean, pulling him the last few feet down the hallway and turning left into the one at the very end.

The guest room was very neat and orderly: no one had stayed there yet, so it was perfect. The double bed was made pristinely, the pillows flawlessly arranged. The curtains over the window fluttered gently and the decorations on the walls and dressers were even, symmetrical, perfectly positioned.

Dean and Cas noticed none of this as they pushed into the room, fingers scrabbling at clothes again. Once the door was closed, Cas immediately shoved Dean against the wooden door, not even bothering to flick on the light. Dean pushed at the trenchcoat, and Cas allowed him to slip it off his shoulders so that it pooled on the floor behind his feet. His left hand had found its way under Dean’s shirt for the third time, and this time Dean lifted his arms obediently so that he could throw it over his head. It joined the trenchcoat on the floor. Cas started in on Dean’s belt while his lips busied themselves once more at his throat, and Dean _knew_ he’d have a lot of unexplainable hickeys in the morning, but he didn’t _really_ care when Cas was moving down his throat and over his sternum and his stomach, sucking in bruises here and there all the while. He finally managed to undo Dean’s belt and slid it out of the loops on his jeans. He was kneeling at this point, and one hand slipped over Dean’s hips and trailed briefly over his ass before settling in on the back of his thigh, nails digging in while the other hand quickly undid the buttons on his jeans. Dean kicked off his shoes as Cas pulled these down, and Dean stepped out of them and was barely aware that he was standing there in just his boxers while Cas was mostly clothed, because Cas was almost pulling his dick out of his boxers and looking up at him way too innocently for the thing he was asking permission to do. Dean sucked in a breath and twisted his hands into Castiel’s hair, which was confirmation enough.

Cas leaned in and slipped his tongue experimentally over the slit, then lowered his mouth _way_ too slowly over Dean’s cock, and Dean struggled not to thrust into his mouth. He wasn’t thinking _at all_  about how weird this was, getting a blowjob from a _dude_ in the guestroom of his cousin’s and best friend’s flat, after the aforementioned dude had kicked ass in a fight against his own family and seemed, before tonight, like the most innocent and sexually repressed guy in the history of ever. He wasn’t thinking about this at all because Cas was licking his tongue up the underside of Dean’s dick and he was making this absurd moans like he was fucking _enjoying_ it, and maybe Dean was making these sounds too, but Cas was sucking his dick like he _liked_ it, and his hand was running over what he couldn’t fit in his mouth. How often did this kid give blowjobs? Honestly, he was deepthroating Dean like he did it for a living. Although, for all that his adoptive sister was known for having sex often and happily, Cas was supposed to be her polar opposite.

He certainly didn’t _seem_ like it. He looked up at Dean and fucking _winked_ , because he knew exactly what he was doing to him. He pulled off suddenly and Dean protested softly, but Cas stood up quickly enough to muffle the sound with his own mouth. He was still mostly clothed, so Dean pulled off Cas’s shirt and started moving him back toward the bed while he undid his pants. Cas fell back onto the bed and Dean stripped his pants and boxers off in one, then climbed on top of him. Cas adjusted, moving himself back further onto the bed and shifting them so that his head lay on a pillow and his feet weren’t dangling off the edge. Dean physically followed his every move, which were all carefully calculated as Dean had buried his head in Cas’s neck again and was pressing kisses to the skin in between the bruises he was sucking in again.

Cas’s hands had dropped down to Dean’s ass  again, and he was squeezing and making progressively smaller circles around his hole until Dean arched his back and let Cas flip them over.

“Is there lube and protection in here?” Cas whispered, hovering slightly over the other boy.

Dean reached out his hand to grope around in the bedside table while Cas dropped his head down and started pressing kisses to Dean’s chest, his hands gripping his hips tightly, but when Dean came up empty, Cas sat up, his knees on either side of Dean’s waist and his ass pressing down into Dean’s dick. He raked his fingers through Dean’s hair and asked, “Do you know where we can get some?”

Dean nodded and maneuvered Cas off of him, then slipped out of the room. Cas sat back on his ankles and watched the door while he waited for Dean to dart into John and Mary’s room and then return. He smiled widely when Dean reentered the room, and Dean tried to remember that _This is just a one-time quickie, I don’t even like guys, let’s not think about this_ while ignoring that he could easily fall in love with Castiel on his smile alone.

Cas reached out his arms when Dean hurriedly approached the bed. His hands grabbed his hips again and pulled him back on top of him, so that he was leaning back slightly, still sitting on his ankles, and Dean was straddling him now, but Cas once again flipped them. Dean’s back hit the mattress loudly, but Cas swallowed the huff he made. He wasted absolutely no time in reuniting their lips. He took one of his hands off Dean’s waist and used it to divest him of the supplies, then slipped the condom over his dick, never parting their lips for a second. He groped blindly for the lube and opened it with one hand while the other searched over Dean’s head for a pillow. He grabbed a spare one that Dean wasn’t using and pulled it down. He lifted his lips just barely, enough to murmur _“Lift your hips”_ but still so slightly that Dean could feel his mouth form the words. He obliged, but at the same time, one hand reached up to tangle in Cas’s hair and pulled him back down, anchoring him there to effectively stop anymore conversation. Cas, who really had no protest to this, slid the pillow under Dean’s raised hips and went back to the lube, trying not to focus too hard on the way one of Dean’s hands was settled over his ass or how the other was tracing shapes all over his spine and somehow driving him crazy.

He hadn’t really paid much attention to his own dick, but now he pumped it a few times when he lubed it up. Then he slathered his own fingers with the stuff and moved it closer to Dean’s hole, never actually entering it until Dean groaned out his name insistently, and he obliged.

Dean was tight, which made sense because he was a virgin in this regard. Cas went slowly, pushing the single digit in and out slowly, and even this was enough to leave Dean squirming and moaning and begging for _more, more, more_ , even though Cas wasn’t sure he could handle that yet. He kissed reassuringly down Dean’s jaw and tried to murmur soft, comforting things in his ear, because it might feel good right now but he knew it was going to hurt, and soon.

“Castiel,” Dean growled out impatiently, and the use of his full name was enough to spur Cas into action. He gently inserted a second finger, moving his head back to carefully assess Dean’s reaction, and though he winced slightly, he then inhaled deeply and nodded to show that he was okay. Cas immediately dropped his head and peppered his jaw with kisses, muttering _it’s okay_ and _I’m sorry_ in between, until Dean grabbed his face and brought their mouths back together with a kind of desperation that had Castiel trying not to squirm as he focused on carefully and slowly scissoring his two fingers and stretching Dean properly.

“I’m fine, Cas, it’s fine, go on, it’s fine,” Dean chanted between kisses, and he sucked Cas’s bottom lip into his mouth for emphasis, biting gently and running his tongue over it afterward. Cas immediately latched onto that, and tried extremely hard to distract Dean with his lips and tongue while he slid in a third finger. Dean sucked in a little breath and his hands clenched on the sheets, so Cas made sure to keep his hand still. He buried his head in Dean’s neck again and resumed his frantic apologies.

Eventually Dean relaxed, his entire body sagging back noticeably into the mattress. He raised one hand to stroke through Cas’s hair and turned his head to kiss his temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, tilting Cas’s head up with his free hand and pressing a little kiss to his mouth. “I’m fine. Go on.”

So Cas did; he slid his fingers in and out of Dean repeatedly, crooking his fingers as he went forward until finally Dean arced off the bed and Cas knew he had hit his prostate. He made sure to repeat the movement exactly, and succeeded about three times before Dean scrabbled fingers frantically against his cheek and whispered against his lips, “Oh my fucking god, Cas, go on, do it, fuck me into the fucking mattress, oh my _fucking_ god,” over and over.

Castiel chuckled quietly and pressed their lips together once more, brushed his fingers one more time over his sweet spot, and slipped out of Dean completely. Dean made this odd little unhappy sound at the sudden emptiness, but then Cas was kissing him in earnest now, so he couldn’t be more vocal about it. Every time he came up for air, he insisted, “Fuck me, Cas, Jesus fucking Christ, fuck me,” and  Cas finally complied, despite how good Dean sounded cursing with abandon.

“Okay,” he whispered back, and Dean let out a little sigh of relief before practically crashing their mouths back together. Cas was left to blindly shift over Dean. They had been semi-awkwardly pressed together, Cas straddling just below Dean’s hips while he opened his legs invitingly, but now he properly shifted up and slotted himself between Dean’s legs. He wasn’t exactly kneeling because he was leaning forward enough to press their bare chests together, leaving almost no room for their hands; Dean’s had been examining every inch of Cas’s skin that he could reasonably reach, while Cas had been in favor of repeating running one through Dean’s hair while the other gripped insistently at his shoulder. Now, however, he trailed one hand over his own skin until it collided with one of Dean’s rapidly roaming hands, and he carefully twined their fingers together as he lined up his dick with Dean’s hole and pushed in with a deliberate slowness. Dean pulled an uncomfortable face, and Cas slid their knotted hands over Dean’s head so that he had room to dip his head back down to Dean’s neck and press kisses all around his ear, whispering comforting words in between repeated inquiries if this was okay, if he was okay.

When Cas bottomed out, he stayed in position, though his knees were protesting slightly. Dean’s breath had turned somewhat shallow, his free hand stilled on Cas’s shoulder blade, and Castiel dropped his hand from Dean’s hair to his waist. He spread his fingers and rubbed his thumb soothingly over Dean’s skin. Dean seemed to relax very slightly at the touch, so Castiel kept at it, his lips still busy with kisses and reassurances.

Finally, Dean loosened up completely. The hand resting against Cas’s back started moving again, though without the franticness it had had before. He ran a slow line from Cas’s neck to his shoulder, over and over, and then turned his head so that his mouth was pressed to Cas’s ear and whispered, “Move, Cas.”

He started out slowly, as with everything, not wanting to hurt Dean at all. His thrusts were shallow, unhurried, though the kisses he was pressing to his neck had returned to full force and were no longer innocent. Dean started raking nails across his back instead of blunt fingertips, but Cas didn’t mind. He pushed in a little harder, settling back slightly on his next thrust, and was rewarded with a loud moan from Dean that meant he had managed to find his prostate again. Cas smirked, and Dean rolled his eyes at the sight, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled their lips back together for long, deep kisses.

Castiel’s thrusts were no longer as shallow but they were just as languid. He took the hand off of Dean’s waist and wrapped it around his dick, timing his pumps with his thrusts and coaxing even more moans out of Dean, who quickly started cursing again.

“I fucking swear to every god I know that if you don’t start moving your fucking hips faster I will fucking end you,” Dean promised, and Cas chuckled and complied. Dean was moving his hips in tandem to Cas’s now. He still cursed out instructions every now and then (“Fuck me harder or I swear to god”) or else just plain cursed (“Holy _shit_ that was fucking _amazing_ ”), and Cas responded to both of these similarly: by quickening his thrusts and pulling out more each time, until he was nearly pulling out completely before slamming back in, but Dean was enjoying it if his excessively loud _fuck_ s were anything to go by.

Since Dean’s lips were presently occupied with oaths, Cas started just pressing his mouth against Dean’s jaw over and over. It couldn’t _really_ be counted as kissing, because mostly he was just breathing hotly against stubble, but neither of them particularly cared at that moment, because Cas was hitting his prostate with every thrust in and he was jerking him off in tandem to their perfectly-timed hips and then they were kissing messily and moaning each other’s names and they were both incredibly close.

With the rhythm set, Cas focused mainly on kissing Dean. Their hands were still tangled together above his head, but his free hand was once again digging into Dean’s waist, and Dean’s unoccupied hand had slid off the back of his head and down to his ass again. Dean suddenly moved his, trailing up his back and pressing it to the side of his neck, though his hand was large enough that his thumb could comfortably rest and rub tiny circles into Castiel’s cheek. Cas leaned into the touch minutely, but Dean could feel the pressure on his hand, and he smiled.

Castiel hadn’t let up on his thrusts, which were still eliciting moans. Dean gasped out, “Cas, I’m gonna—” but Cas covered his mouth with his own and, after another few seconds of messy kissing, he said, “Me too,” before attacking Dean’s lips again.

Their hips started stuttering in their rhythm, which was pretty much all the warning either had before they were coming at the same time. Their hands stilled, one set on the pillows above Dean’s head, the other on each other’s cheeks, their lips still pressed together but no longer moving. They breathed hotly into each other’s mouths as they came simultaneously, and Cas pumped Dean through his orgasm, though he stilled his own hips as he spilled into the condom. When it was over, he didn’t pull out immediately, just lay there, half-collapsed on top of Dean, his head fallen back into the dip in the other boy’s neck as he breathed shallowly against his skin.

Finally he pulled out and rolled over, a move which _would_ have disconnected their hands if Dean had let it. He, however, pulled their entwined fingers to his own chest and kept them there, feeling his own heartbeat. Cas looked up at him and Dean smiled at him, his heart humming underneath their hands, their legs still tangled over the sheets. The silence stretched comfortingly, with the two of them smiling at each other contentedly. The music from the party downstairs drifted back up to them, momentarily lost in the haze of sex and bliss.

Cas broke the moment by rolling over, removing his hand from Dean’s. He got to his feet and pulled the condom off, throwing it and the wrapper into the garbage can in the adjoining bathroom. He said a silent apology to Mary and whoever occupied this room next, then returned to Dean. Instead of lying down with him, however, he stood next to the bed, hands on his hips, staring at this mess of a boy that he had basically just ravaged.

Dean looked beautiful. His hair was messy, the bruises sucked and gripped into his skin already bright against his tan. He smiled lazily up at Cas, seeing the same picture and liking the view. When Cas offered him a hand, he took it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. They redressed in comfortable silence, and once they had shrugged back into all of their clothes—though Cas’s angel wings were still broken on the bathroom floor across the hall—Dean opened the door and led the way out, shutting it carefully behind them. As they made their way back down the hall, he grabbed Cas’s hand and let their joined palms swing between them.

 

Mary was furious.

          Of course, the state they were in made their actions extremely evident, and Mary had a sharp eye besides. She pulled them into the kitchen as soon as they walked downstairs, which luckily prevented the other guests from getting a good look at them, and whipped around as soon as she pulled the door closed.

“Did you idiots just have sex upstairs? That floor was _off-limits_!”

          It was a mark of just how much of a godsend Mary Campbell actually was that she didn’t comment on Dean’s apparent flouting of his own sexuality, or on anything but the fact that they had just trashed one of her pristinely-kept rooms with sex.

          “I’m sorry, Mary,” said Cas sincerely, bowing his head slightly. Dean remembered suddenly that Cas didn’t actually know Mary that well, and that he was the younger sibling of Mary’s least favorite person in the universe. The fact that he had estranged himself from the family didn’t change that.

          She sighed. “It’s okay, guys. Just…clean yourselves up, for god’s sake! If John sees you like that, he’ll kill you.” With that, she stormed away, though not before pouring herself a healthy measure of whiskey.

          Dean and Cas stood in slightly stunned silence for a second, looking blankly at each other, and then burst into brilliant and unexpected laughter. Even when they sobered, Dean continued to gaze openly at Cas, at how he opened up even more when he smiled, and how beautiful he looked in that moment.

          Dean raised their intertwined hands slightly to acknowledge it, then quirked him a half-smile.

          “Do you…do you want to come see a movie with me tomorrow night?” he asked tentatively, his hand jumping up to the back of his neck.

          Castiel smiled brilliantly again. “I’d love to.”

          Dean couldn’t help but to smile in return. He didn’t notice Mary watching them from the other room, rolling her eyes. He didn’t notice the people starting to stare at straight-as-hell Dean Winchester holding hands with a guy, both of them covered in hickeys and with sex hair so obvious he doubted even the most in-denial homophobic conservatives could miss the implications. He just noticed Cas, and how Cas was studying him just as intently.

          “Wanna get of here?” asked Dean, nodding his head in the direction of the front door. Cas closed his lips tightly around another grin and nodded agreeably.

          Yeah, the shitstorm would come. It always did. But for now, he had just had really fucking awesome sex with a gorgeous boy, and he was really, _really_ glad that he had come to this party.


End file.
